#rompo

“Can it! I know you still think someone is coming to save you, but I really don't want to take anymore fingers.” She glanced down at the bloodied body part in her hand, slowly letting it drip dots of red onto the glass floor of the giant wheel. 

“Please! Please don't,” he clasped the injured hand to his chest, and let his messy brown hair fall in his face. 

Her left heel stomped into the wood center she stood on, face growing annoyed. A gun holsted on her hip being reached for and lazily aimed at the man, she smirked a bit as his already pained face grew wide in shock and fear. 

“This would go so much quicker if I just…” She motioned a shot by lifting the tip of her gun  “Bang.” At her motion he flinched harshly, eyes scanning the multicolored numbers that were dispersed all around him. 

“Fine, 2, black 2, please!” with pleading eyes the man sunk to his knees. 

“Atta boy~” Y/n roused. Then suddenly the giant wheel began to spin, and out of nowhere a white ball, the same height as her, began to roll in the opposite direction. Loud banging of the ball against the shiny wood echoed through what seemed to be an infinite space as the man’s fate was decided. 

Then, suddenly the noise all came to a halt, and his briefcase floated up the wheel towards the leather suited girl. A whistle of joy blew from her black painted lips. 

“Awe, why thank you, darling. And remember, if you tell anyone…” She placed the tip of her glock to her tongue and shot her head upwards, rolling her eyes to mimic being shot. 

The next he saw, he was back in the deserted building she’d blackmailed him into going to. No way to get back home, and afraid of every word his mouth could speak. 

While at the same time, a clueless Dazai rolled around at his desk, not even pretending to work as he scribbled new ideas in his suicide book. Well, so his co-workers thought. 

However today he wasn’t focused on how to commit suicide, but rather practicing the perfect note. The man never fancied the idea of leaving a note, especially since he was on the quest for a double suicide partner, and if you die with your one true love, who else would you really need to address? 

Yet a part of him felt that though the many women he brought back to his apartment, and scared away in the morning were beautiful, he still might never suicide with the woman he truly loves. So if he cant perform that perfect double suicide, he might as well leave her a note. 

Thus far it read: If you’ve been delivered this, it’s because I finally achieved my ultimate goal! You might like to know that, yes, even after all these years, suicude suits me the best. I remember that one time where you got so upset that you shot me straight in the stomach with a shotgun, I didn't even flinch. When you asked me why, I told you, “Those of us who fear death, are truly the outsiders here in this industry.” 

You are smart, you knew what I meant, but I don't know why I could never say the word to you. I can say it now. Suicide. Suicide. Suicide. Suicide. Suicide. Suicide. Suic

Yes, it hasn't been the easiest writing Dazai’s ever done. He has already scrapped three attempts and despite this being a suicide note, he just cant help but obsess over the fact that he will be gone when she reads it. Dead. He wanted to be dead, tried to die on so many occasions so why does it matter so much that he is dead in this stupid letter? 

“Get back to work Dazai, you have a case!” He could hear Kunikida’s voice shout across the room. 

Sighing and tossing the book to the ground beside him, he reached to open the case file on top of his stack. Three men and two women, all died from unsuspicious circumstances after entering the old coat factory building, shut down ten years ago for gas leakage. 

It didn't seem all that crazy to him, death by car crash, heart attack, suicide, suicide, suicide. How many of them commited suicide? Now that part was strange. He didn’t see any correlation between the suicides, unless, well, something in that building made them commit suicide. 

“Ugh, can't you just send Rampo on this one! With his ability it’ll go so much faster.” The man whined, forming his best pout at his colleague. 

“No.”

“Fine, but what do you even find so similar about these deaths, most of them are Suicide?” Dazai flung his head over the back of his chair, letting it lose balance and almost tip him backwards, before barely staying upright.

“Well, they were all spotted on their way to this building, and sporting this strange symbol on some part of their body.” He pointed to photos in the file that zoomed in on arms, wrists, necks, ankles. All of which had the same dark imprint on them. 

His eyes widened at the familiar mark, one he had on his own body. A mark that he hated as much as he loved, but he never thought he’d see one again. Especially not on victims of...suicide. How couldn’t he have seen this earlier. The obsession with suicide, it was always her favorite game to play with people. She loved watching them choose between a noble death, or a selfish act.

The woman hated suicide, having had to sit and watch her own mother with a gun to her head. Hearing the echoes of an apology before all she could see was blood. So why not test all these terrible people to see if they would be so selfish as to take their own lives, or be brave enough to face her. Die while fighting for life, instead of the most desperate surrender. 

He was certain that with her ability, all of this was possible, and that’s how he ended up in a dark alleyway past midnight, staring straight into her striking e/c eyes and secretly admiring her slim fitting choice of attire. She was never one for modesty, preferring to be sensual as a way to seduce people into her ability. 

“Dazai.” She affirmed with a small smirk, as he scanned the shiny, reflective material covering her legs in black, along with the deep maroon satin that splayed her chest, not so conservatively. He wished that the choice of clothes even mattered to the situation, but he knew that comfortable or not she could fight him without her ability better than most people in the agency or the port mafia. 

Touching her would do nothing but increase his ache for her body once more. Those days were over long ago, but yet he still had dreams of the nights they would catch up after work, pretending as if she hadn’t just come back from torturing people and he hadn't been doing whatever secretive work he refused to tell her. In said dreams they’d talk over a drink and speak in depth and philosophy, until all the meaningful words were gone, replaced with the much more comfortable drunken giggles as he stumbled into her apartment. He knew that was never her real apartment, but he wanted to pretend it was, that she trusted him enough to take him home and show him that intimacy nobody else was willing to. 

Yet he also knew in the mornings when he began to remember everything he’d said to her, all of his feelings, the deep dark things, and how she was somehow so understanding, he’d be awful to her. Either leaving without any notice, or threatening her at gunpoint not to speak a word of it.  

He was a fun guy, kind, and silly, but he knew she’d remember all those times the facade was dropped and pure venom seeped from his words. She never scared so easily, though. Always ready to meet again the next night and start all over, teasing him about his tough guy exterior and repeating the same process as before. 

“Y/n” 

“Why are you-”

“Looking for you?” she interrupted, suddenly behind him, with a hand on his shoulder hovering over the spot they both knew was aching to be shown. 

He smirked, “Actually I was wondering why you started killing people again, but I suppose I now know it's just because you can't live without my wit and charms.” 

Pressure began to build on his shoulder, her ability being activated and the spade on his collar bone aching. She’d placed it there with her lips years ago, in secret, only for it to appear the next day randomly, leaving him bonded to her in a way he couldn’t control. 

When he looked around again he was in her ability, she hadn’t decided her gamble yet, though. So all he saw was an empty red room. The feeling of her body behind him was ever present, but he wasn’t scared, if she truly wanted to kill him, that might honestly be his ideal death. It would at the least be in the presence of someone he loved. More so, the only person he ever loved. 

“It's been a while hasn’t it? Why lure me out now, y/n/n?” She let her arms link around his waist from behind pressing herself tight against his back. 

“It might be because I have some very important mafia business to speak of with you..” she whispered delicately in his ear, making sure the breath sent a shiver through him. 

“Oh? They still want me ba-” a hand came to cover his mouth. “Shhh.” then it dropped back to it's hold around his lower body. 

“Or it could be just ‘cuz I missed ya..” He smiled at that, now understanding why there was no form of a gamble in this void. 

“You wanna dance with me, don't you!  Awe how cute, y/n! You’re just like a little girl, wanting to play princess with me,” the man excitedly rambled on. While the woman now in front of him, as he had turned to address her, was planning her bet. 

“No. Absolutely not! That's not why we’re dancing.”

“So we are dancing~” he tried to sneak a hand around waist only to be shoved off. 

“The bet is this; if you dance with me, all the way through this song without putting on that shitty facade, I’ll give ya a nice kiss and leave you alone…” 

He grew impatient in her silence, “and if I don't?”

“Easy!” she smiled “ then you’ll have to kill me!” 

With those words he could feel the mark fading from his skin. A piece of her that kept them connected was disappearing and he wanted it back. Dazai didn't like this bet, he didn't agree to it, not just because of the stupid mark, that wasnt a yes. There was no way he could kill her, but her ability would force him to, infiltrate his mind if it had to, just to make true one of her wishes. 

“No, I don't want to.” 

“Then I suppose you’ll have to dance.”

He didn't though, she knew that. The second he touched her to dance, the bet would be over, the mark though, It’d still be gone. So how could he? 

“No longer Human.” he whispered into her ear as his hands finally touched her, holding her body close, head resting on her shoulder as they fell back into the real world, her ability completely deactivating. Still, he began to sway her body side to side, not knowing what look she held on her face, but feeling the way her arms tightened around his neck. 

There was no music, and they were in a dark and dimly lit alleyway, but this was the happiest either of them had felt in years. 

“You shouldn’t kill people…” he whispered,  keeping the mood quiet. 

“ It’s not that simple and you know it. I'm not like you.” 

“C’mon, you’re way better than me!” He left a kiss on the exposed skin of her neck. 

“Osamu..” and he tensed at the name no one ever called him anymore, “you can abandon the Mafia and have them begging for you back. Next time I step out of line, you’ll be finding my body washed up on a shoe somewhere, three gunshots to my chest.” 

It was true, she wasn’t in the same position he was all those years ago when he gave up the path of evil. Yet somehow, even after years, he was holding her in his arms again, even though he was sure the last contact they’d ever have was on each other's deathbeds. 

So there was hope. He was sure of it. “Give me my mark back.” 

“You don't want that…” she side glanced at him, only seeing his hair, curls brushing her cheek. Despite what she said, though, she leaned in and planted a gentle kiss on his lower neck, exposed by the low and unbuttoned collar of his shirt. Then leaned back and stared into his bright eyes, getting lost in them as she unknowingly leaned closer. So close that their lips were touching, and then their noses brushing each other as they pressed further in. 

She trapped his top lips between hers and barely pulled away before returning, because she couldn’t let the touch be gone any longer. Neither could he, although they’d both return to different lives in the morning. She knew he was alive. And he knew what he was living for.